Walk of Shame
by Copycat
Summary: Nikki wakes up in someone else's bed. But whose? Rated for sexual content.


AUTHOR: Copycat (Lizzy)  
RATING: M  
CLASSIFICATION: Nikki/Harry, Nikki/Other, Friendship, Romance  
SPOILERS: Nothing too specific, but anything through series 12 is fair game.  
SUMMARY: Nikki wakes up in someone else's bed. But whose? Rated for sexual content.  
DISCLAIMER: The BBC owns everything you recognise. And probably some things you don't.

This is an experiment gone horribly wrong. For one thing it wasn't meant to be anywhere near this long. It was also meant to be slightly more structured and rather less graphic. But Nikki isn't all that structured, and she is a bit of a hussy, it seems, so I guess it was inevitable... I've been struggling with this for days now, and I'm not happy with it yet, but there's no way I'm going to rewrite it, so that can't be helped.

Also, I apologise. Sincerely.

* * *

Even before she was fully awake Nikki was aware that something was off.

Something about the way the duvet wrapped around her, the feel of the sheets, the way the light of morning hit her face.

She didn't open her eyes, but racked her brain for an answer instead. She liked it better when she actually knew where she was before she got to see the place. It was less stressful that way.

They had all gone out for drinks last night. Leo had gone home early because he and Janet had plans this morning.

It had just been her and Harry, already fairly drunk by the time Leo had left, making up a drinking game based on who could tell the most embarrassing story about dating at university.

She had won by the longest mile in recorded history.

And then those two accountants had come over at some point while Harry was in the loo.

Oh, God.

What had happened next?

She felt someone shift next to her in the bed and screwed her eyes shut more firmly.

Their names had been... Derek and... Derek and... Paul, that was it.

They had wanted her to settle a bet for them: Which one did she think was cuter? She had thought Derek for sure, but he looked like a jerk, so she had told them Paul.

When Harry came back they had just bought her a beer and sat down across from her at the table. Derek had been in Harry's seat and hadn't moved, even when Harry had been hovering right next to him with nowhere to sit down.

Where had Harry gone?

Had he left?

The body next to her moved again and she felt a hairy leg brush against her.

She shifted closer to the edge of the bed, away from the as yet unidentified limb.

No, Harry hadn't left. He had given Derek a look of utter contempt, smiled at Nikki and then firmly picked her up, sat down in her seat and positioned her in his lap.

He had put his arms around her waist to help her keep her balance as if it were the most natural thing in the world to do.

Derek had been smarter than he looked, though, and hadn't been fooled for a second.

Which had impressed Nikki to no end, because she had almost been fooled herself, when Harry's thumb had been stroking her forearm and he had pulled her even closer.

Paul had been watching Harry and Derek's exchange, and unnoticed by any of them he had made a gesture that had clearly meant, "Which one do you prefer?"

She had rolled her eyes and he had grinned at her. He'd had a really nice smile, and she had decided that he _was_ actually better looking than stupid smug Derek, who knew Harry was only touching her to mess with him.

And then what?

Derek had said something stupid, and Harry had said something scathing in reply, which had made Paul nod, pretending to be impressed.

Paul had turned out to be quite funny, and when he smiled he had really been very cute.

She sighed, pulling the duvet up to her chin, as she remembered shifting around in Harry's lap to get closer to Paul.

He had been cute last night, with four pints and twice as many shots in her system. She could probably have been attracted to a lamp post by that time.

Especially if that lamp post had paid attention to her just then, when Harry had suddenly loosened his grip on her and shifted her none too gently from sitting on his left thigh, leaning against him for support, to balancing somewhat precariously on his right knee, closer to Paul. Far from Harry's comfortable and familiar torso.

"I can tell that you're awake, you know," an amused voice said suddenly. "I am, too, so you won't be able to sneak out of here."

She opened her eyes. "Damn," she said, because it was the first thing that came to her mind.

He was on lying his side, his head propped up on his hand, looking down at her. He was smiling apprehensively. "Good morning?" It was clearly a question.

She studied his face. She could tell that he was nervous, worried about her reaction to waking up next to him. "It could've been a lot worse," she replied.

His smile grew a little wider. "Flattery will get you anywhere," he assured her.

She looked around his bedroom. "Clearly."

"I think your clothes are in the living room," he said, apparently thinking that's what she was looking for.

"I don't really remember what happened last night," she admitted. She wasn't sure she wanted him to tell her.

For the briefest of seconds she thought he looked disappointed, but then he smiled. "So, if I had gone out there and slept on the couch, you would have thought I'd been the perfect gentleman?"

She shifted her hips, feeling the familiar soreness from recent usage in muscles not needed for sleeping in a perfect gentleman's bed. "Not really, no."

His eyes travelled halfway down her body, covered by the unflattering duvet, and then back to her face. "Right," he said, sounding somewhat pleased.

She rolled her eyes.

"So you don't remember anything at all?" He asked.

"I remember drinking," she said. "We were all talking. And then..." she trailed off, trying to remember what had happened. How had they got from four people talking in a pub to two people naked in bed together?

The only thing she was sure of was that some degree of humiliation on her part must've been involved.

She wondered why she didn't feel any more awkward and uncomfortable than she did. She should be desperately planning her exit strategy, not feeling frustrated about not being able to remember the actual sex.

It didn't matter if it had been good or bad, all that mattered was getting out of there with some amount of dignity intact.

"But you don't remember coming back here?"

"Not in the slightest," she said, just as she had a flash of a memory of being pressed up against his front door, with her hands working to unbutton his jeans while he struggled to simultaneously unlock the door and kiss her neck.

"Why did we come back here?" She asked, trying to dispel the image and the fluttering in her stomach it had caused, by asking a question she really didn't want an answer to.

He laughed. It sounded oddly hollow.

She smiled. "No, I got that bit. I mean, how did we get from..."

"From Derek spilling his pint down your front to you taking your top off?"

"I took my top off in the pub?!"

"No," he assured her. "You took it off in the taxi."

"Well, that's much better," she agreed.

"The cabbie certainly thought so."

She raised her eyebrows and he grinned, moving to sit up, leaning against the headboard. "I wasn't complaining, either," he added.

"How did you ever manage to get me drunk enough to do this in the first place?" She asked. She did know she had managed getting drunk perfectly well on her own, but it would be nice to deposit some of the blame with someone else.

He looked aghast. "I wasn't... I mean, I thought... I was pretty drunk, too. I didn't mean to..." He trailed off, looking somewhat desperate.

It took a moment for her to understand. Then she laughed. "I didn't mean it like that. You weren't taking advantage of me or anything. I'm pretty sure I wanted this last night. I assumed it was my idea."

He looked as if she'd just told him how spoons work. "Right. Yes. It _was_ your idea. Definitely. All you." When he saw the disbelieving look on her face he stopped talking and grinned. "It was a mutual decision," he amended.

A mutual decision she had no recollection of making, resulting in something she also didn't remember. Not that she doubted him. She knew herself well enough to know that she would have been a very willing participant last night.

She wondered if he was naked, too. And how they would manage to get from being naked under the same duvet to being dressed without it getting awkward.

"Do you want me to go get your clothes?" He offered, as if he had read her mind and decided that even morning-after chivalry was better than no chivalry at all.

"Yes, thanks," she smiled.

When he got out of bed she saw the scratch marks on his back. She felt guilty and disappointed at the same time. Guilty because it must sting, and disappointed because the sex must've been pretty good for her to do that, and she didn't remember it at all.

She had had great sex, and she had missed it.

Never mind, she told herself as he stood up and walked naked to his dresser and pulled on a pair of boxers before leaving the room. It was probably for the best that she couldn't remember just now. She might not want to leave. And she definitely needed to leave.

"I think you might've left your top in the taxi," he told her when he came back. He dropped her clothes on the bed next to her. Her panties got stuck on his finger and he had to shake his hand to free himself of the tangled up bit of fabric.

He grinned self-deprecatingly and shook his head.

She picked them up and pulled them on under cover of the duvet. "Spoils of war, I suppose," she shrugged from her half-sitting position. It was an old top, anyway.

He watched her wiggling around awkwardly. "You realise there's nothing under there that I haven't already seen, right?"

She shot him a look but didn't say anything.

"You just want to make absolutely sure I don't get to see it again, is that it?" He was clearly amused.

"Look," she said as she tried to hold up the duvet with her chin while she put on her bra. "What happened last night... happened. And that's fine. I'm not saying I regret it. Frankly how could I when I can't even remember it? But we're both sober now and things are a little different. Don't you think?"

"You _really_ don't remember anything?" He asked her, wanting to make sure. "Nothing at all?"

"Not really. Why?"

He shook his head. "No reason."

"What did I do?"

"Nothing," he assured her quickly. "You were... great."

He grimaced at his own choice of words and she laughed. "Thank you. I'm sure you were as well."

"Ah," he pointed a finger at her. "But you can't know that. It could've been the worst sex of your life, and you'll never know about it. I really wish I'd known that last night, I wouldn't have made so much of an effort."

She threw a pillow at him and he ducked it easily. "Just go call me a taxi, will you?"

He picked up the pillow and dropped it back on the bed and then left her to put on the rest of her clothes in peace.

She sat on the edge of the bed and picked up her tights. When she tried to sort out the legs she saw the large tear, stretching about halfway down what had been the right thigh.

They had been in the hallway, she remembered suddenly, and she had been leaning against the wall while he crouched down in front of her, kissing her naked stomach.

She had pulled him up by his hair just as he had tried to pull down her tights, and his hand had gone through the sheer 20 deniers. He had managed a muffled "Sorry," as she had pulled him in for a sloppy kiss.

She dropped the tights to the floor and pulled on her skirt.

And then she was all out of clothes.

Well, never mind. Like he said, he had seen it all before. She took a deep breath and left the bedroom.

He was in the kitchen, making coffee. "Do you want some?" He asked without turning around.

"No thanks."

He poured a cup for himself and put away the second mug he had already got out of the cabinet.

He turned around and leaned against the counter, taking in her appearance with a nod of mock acknowledgement. "Your chariot will be here in about ten minutes," he told her.

"Do I have my coat?" She asked, ignoring his sarcasm.

"Hallway," he said simply, blowing steam off his coffee and taking a sip.

She hovered for a minute, trying to think of something appropriate to say, but her head was too preoccupied with trying to dig out more bits and pieces of last night, so she went into the hallway and picked up her coat from the floor by the door where she had discarded it last night and put it on over her bra. The lining felt cold against her naked skin.

After a moment he followed her wordlessly, and she knew he had come to check if she would just leave without a word.

"I'm sorry I don't remember," she told him, not sure who she was apologising to.

He shook his head. "Don't be," he said sincerely. "It was just sex, not the creation of anti-matter. You didn't miss out on anything important."

She smiled, appreciating the effort he was making to make her feel better. "I should probably go out and wait," she said, waving a hand at the door.

He nodded. "Of course. We'll do this again sometime," he said automatically and then realised what he was saying. "Or, maybe not."

She shrugged and opened the door. "Who knows? We made a good effort, but I don't think we've depleted Britain's supply of hard liquor."

He laughed and walked over to hold the door open for her.

She leaned up and kissed him briefly on the cheek. "Bye."

He smiled and hesitated for a second before tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Bye."

* * *

By the time the taxi stopped outside her building more fragments of last night had come to the surface and she was trying to fit them together.

Paul had wanted to play a game of pool and she had agreed. Harry and Derek hadn't even noticed when they left the table.

Then halfway through the game they had walked over, and she had caught Harry staring at her as she had leaned over the table to pocket the six-ball. He had smiled and she had missed what should have been an easy shot. Even for a drunk.

Derek had offered to give her a lesson. Harry had shot her a disbelieving look and she had accepted.

She had caught Paul grinning at her.

Derek had moved to stand behind her, adjusting the position of her legs with his hands on her hips, then he had moved closer, and with one hand on her back he had bent her over the pool table.

Harry had been watching with a blank look on his face.

Paul had been laughing outright by then, shaking his head at Derek.

Derek had leaned over her, moving his arms around her and guiding her hands, adjusting her fingers to lend better support to the cue resting on it on the green felt and putting his right hand on hers, holding the other end of the cue.

From the look on Harry's face she had been able to tell that Derek was looking at him. He had his arms crossed and he had _almost_ been scowling. It had been as if he didn't see her at all.

Derek had moved even closer, pressing himself against her backside.

"I was wondering about your mate," he had whispered in her ear. "Whether he was gay or just stupid."

Taking control of the cue he had thrust it forward and hit the white ball perfectly, making it bounce off the opposite rail and hit the six-ball which rolled neatly into the corner pocket opposite the one Nikki had been aiming for before.

Harry had shifted, breathing heavily. His eyes had been shooting daggers at Derek, who had put his left hand on her hip.

"I guess now I know," Derek had whispered before finally moving away and letting her stand up.

She had looked at Harry, but he had refused to meet her eye, so she had turned to Paul instead.

He had looked from Derek to Harry and then at Nikki, nodding his approval.

She had rolled her eyes at him and shaken her head.

When he had said he was going out for a fag she had gone with him.

They had been talking for a while, and she had been flirting with him, which had surprised him at first. He had told her she was wasting her time, they were all alone out there.

So she had asked him if he was married.

He had laughed at that, with that really nice laugh of his, and told her "No".

He had looked at her as if what she said mattered had to him.

When they had come back inside Harry and Derek had been back at the table, with nearly full pints, discussing something serious.

There had still been only three chairs and Derek had patted his leg for her to sit down, grinning widely. Harry hadn't moved at all. He had just watched her, his eyes narrow slits of resentment.

Paul had put a hand on her back and moved the free chair to the end of the table, an equal distance from Harry and Derek. He had guided her into the seat.

"Personally, I'm hoping they'll arm wrestle," he had told her.

She had looked at his own somewhat skinny arms and hoped that they wouldn't.

He had noticed and smiled. "The trick is to just hang back and watch the alpha males killing each other, and then you're the only one left."

She had laughed. "Very clever."

"It would be if it ever worked," he had agreed.

"It'll work," she had assured him just as Derek gesticulated violently and sent his beer flying.

The science of liquids reproducing themselves about five times as they travelled through the air from their container to wherever they were landing had never impressed her less than at that moment, when she was covered in cold, foamy lager.

Derek had laughed uproariously and dabbed at her front with an already soaked napkin.

Paul had nudged his hand away and she had gone to the loo to try and dry herself off a bit. When she had come out ten minutes later Harry had been waiting for her right outside the door.

He had been angry, wanting to know what the hell she was doing.

She had asked him the same thing.

They had argued and then Paul had shown up, saving her from Harry's completely unjustified wrath. Which had only enraged Harry further, she could tell.

Then they had been kissing, suddenly, but she couldn't remember who had initiated it. All she remembered was his hands everywhere and her whole body being on fire.

And then him whispering in her ear, panting, as she ran her hands up his back, under his t-shirt. "Maybe we should go somewhere else?"

Derek had looked at them in surprise when she had picked up her coat and waved goodbye.

They had barely made it into the taxi before they had their hands all over each other.

She had been straddling him, and he had been leaned down in his seat to accommodate her.

That must've been when she had taken off her top.

When the taxi had stopped in front of his house, he had paid the cabdriver with money he got out of his pocket without even looking at him, too intent on kissing her neck to pay attention to how much money he was handing over.

But it had been enough, and the driver had even got out and opened the door for them.

By the time they left the hallway and made it to the living room she had been in her underwear and he had been kicking his jeans off his feet.

She had had her hands tangled in his chest hair, kissing his shoulder while he unhooked her bra.

She had stopped kissing him and looked up as he pulled it off. He had been smiling, looking at her in a way that made her feel beautiful and wanted, even under the haze of booze.

She had pounced on him, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him fiercely. He had staggered backwards, stumbling into the couch and nearly toppling over.

"Easy," he had laughed, sitting down on the armrest.

"I am not," she had told him, frowning.

"You are a bit," he had joked, hooking his fingers in her panties and pulling them down slowly.

"Shut up."

He had looked up at her and smiled, obligingly kissing her stomach instead, teasing her until she had squirmed in his arms.

"Bedroom," she had moaned and he had laughed against her skin, the vibrations making her squirm even more.

He had been looming over her in bed, waiting for something, and she had realised it was her permission.

It had made her laugh that he thought he needed it and she had wrapped her legs around him, pulling him close.

She dropped her purse on the coffee table, now, and looked around her empty flat.

She sighed and sat down on the couch, rubbing her face with her hands and closing her eyes.

She remembered nodding off, and then words, balanced on the edge of her consciousness, whispered into her ear after a soft kiss was pressed to her temple. She smiled and picked up the phone.

He answered on the fourth ring. "Hello?"

"You told me you loved me," she said. "You thought I was asleep, but I wasn't."

At the other end of the line Harry laughed softly. "I thought you said you didn't remember anything?"

"I remember that."

End

* * *

Were you fooled? Even for a minute? (If you tell me you _knew_ it was Harry all along I might actually cry, because then I wasted hours of my life trying to make this all ambiguous, but at the same time putting in little clues, for nothing. But on the other hand, then I'll know I should never write a mystery type fic, so it might be a good thing.)


End file.
